by Ann Roberts
Molly grabbed a red and a blue marker and drew two enormous freehand circles in the shape of a Venn diagram on the whiteboard wall while Ari watched, amazed at how perfectly round each one was. She labeled one Care and the other Jonny. She added smaller circles on the periphery and added the details they knew.
“So, Jonny is discharged in ninety-seven and Care is discharged in o-three. Both must’ve received some sort of military pension, right? What happened to them during the last eleven years?”
Ari flipped through her notes. “We found Jonny’s death certificate. She died in Phoenix in two thousand and twelve. Cause of death was asphyxiation.”
“She killed herself?”
“Yeah. By hanging.”
They both looked up at the same time, and she could read the sadness on Molly’s face.
Molly quickly turned away and drew another circle. “So at some point they come to Phoenix. Jonny dies and Care is living on the street even though she’s collecting a pension. We also know she’s taking Risperdal.” She added smaller circles to Care’s side and labeled them.
“Maybe the loss of Jonny pushed her over the edge. Maybe she couldn’t cope,” Ari suggested.
“That’s very possible. What else about the documents?”
“It’s a little weird. Most of them are either notes or medical reports on Jonny. Very little about Care. And all are from the VA Medical Center. Jonny went there regularly, but she wasn’t treated very often. Some of these notes are a little disturbing. I’m not sure if Care or Jonny wrote them, but several recount conversations that Jonny had with an LPN or a PA. She only saw a doctor once. He ordered a chest x-ray but she never had it.”
“Why?”
“Apparently it was never ordered.”
“Maybe she was really sick,” Molly said. “Maybe it drove her to suicide. Then her partner couldn’t cope and moved to the streets where she adopted the name Ms. Wonders. There’s obviously a great affection for her in the community, especially from Tony Sanchez. And Reverend Glass has been counseling distraught parishioners who knew her.”
Ari made a note. “We definitely need to talk to them.” She returned to the pictures she’d found in Care’s desk. “This was her life,” she said. “This was her story. Jonny was obviously her greatest love.”
Suddenly she completely forgot about the case. She was surrounded by Molly’s musky cologne that always triggered so many memories. She wished the McConleys hadn’t found a house and she resented Yoli for making Molly late. She deliberately moved to a picture of Care standing in front of the Taj Mahal.
“Maybe she got her nickname because she was so well traveled.” She rearranged seven of the photos and said, “Forget who’s in these pictures. Look at the settings. What do you see?”
“The Grand Canyon, the Pyramids, the Empire State Building, the Taj Mahal, Stonehenge, the Great Wall of China…” She nodded. “The Seven Wonders.” She stepped closer and read the backside of a photo. “But this is the Cluny Abbey. I don’t see the relevance.”
“There are many lists for the Seven Wonders, and the Cluny Abbey in France is sometimes included.”
“Wow,” Molly marveled. “To see all of those places.”
Ari knew Molly had always wanted to travel, and they’d planned several trips that never happened because work had always interfered. Suddenly flustered, she couldn’t be close to her any longer and dropped into the nearest chair.
“We don’t have a motive. She was smart and apparently well liked. Why was she killed?”
“I think she saw something she shouldn’t have seen. What did she do in the military?” Molly asked, still looking at the photos.
“First she was an MP and then she moved into their engineering department.”
“That would explain why they wanted to keep her. She was an engineer and she was female. How great does that look for the male-dominated army?”
She returned to the diagram and added some more circles while Ari reviewed the notes she’d taken on the documents. She studied the dates, trying to create a timeline of Jonny’s visits to the VA. When she looked at her watch several minutes had passed. It was often that way between them. They’d always been comfortable being still with each other.
“Here,” Molly said, her finger tapping the close-up photo of the pen Ari had found on Ms. Wonders’s desk. She yanked the picture from the wall and dropped it on the table. “That’s what you were missing. The pen has a Velcro strip.”
“So where’s the other part of the Velcro?” Ari asked.
Molly grinned. “Exactly. The pen attached to something.”
“Maybe she picked up that pen off the street or at the VA?” Ari hypothesized.
“Maybe,” Molly conceded, “but she seemed very organized.” She returned to the group of photos depicting the items on the desk. “Think about what she was doing when she was killed. She was sorting through her pack. Her possessions were important to her, and I’ll bet she did that every day. I’ll bet it was her routine. Typical for veterans,” she added, and Ari heard the sarcasm in her voice.
“So you’re thinking that whatever this pen was attached to is what the killer took,” Ari said.
“Yup. Maybe it was a notebook or a journal.”
“Then why didn’t he take the pen as well? Wouldn’t it have been stuck to whatever it belonged to?”
“Not if she’d been using it. Maybe she’d been making notes before he attacked her. That theory supports my idea for the motive.” Molly grew more animated and started to create a timeline on the wall. “Maybe she was watching someone over a period of time and writing down her observations.” She paused then said, “Probably damn curious. Reminds me of someone else I know.”
The remark surprised Ari and her breath caught for a second, but she quickly recovered as Molly continued to scribble on the wall.
“Let’s try to connect everything. Here’s the list of incidents over the past two months. On June twenty-sixth, vandals smash the front window of Brown’s Diner. An alarm is activated around two thirty a.m. No one hurt. Then during the Fourth of July weekend someone pries open the back door of the Frontal Lobe Gallery and slashes six paintings belonging to the same artist. No alarm so the time isn’t known.”
“Do they have an alarm now?”
“Yes. Tony Sanchez, the gallery manager, put together a crowdfunding website and they raised the money in a day.”
“Then that probably removes him as a suspect.”
“Not necessarily,” Molly said. “The incident and the fundraising were great PR for him. Frontal Lobe is selling a lot more art now.”
“Okay, what else?”
She added another mark on the timeline. “On July ninth a smoke bomb went off at the Bikini Lounge and the bar was evacuated.”
“That’s on LGA too, right?” Ari clarified.
“Yes. All of the incidents have happened on LGA except the last one. On July twenty-second—just two weeks ago—rival gang members have a standoff in the RoRo park that results in a stabbing. Other gang members show up and the only way the police can deescalate the situation is to close Third Friday. They ruled all these incidents as unrelated.”
“But you don’t believe that.”
She gestured at the wall. “There’s too much here for it to be coincidental. Now that someone’s been killed, a person with a military background, I think it cements my theory. I think it’s all connected. I think someone doesn’t want LGA to succeed.”
Ari joined her at the timeline. “Are you sure it’s not about both areas? The gang fight happened on RoRo. Up until the murder it was the most dangerous incident and cost the community the most money. Wouldn’t that support the idea that both areas were targets?”
“I think that’s unlikely. I think the killer took advantage of the gang fight, used it as a red herring to throw us off. The killer wants us to think that this is about both areas so our investigation is divided.”
Molly set down the marker and crossed h
er arms. Ari knew Molly was staring at her and the sensation of being watched was distracting. When they’d worked cases together in the past, they bantered possibilities back and forth, often vehemently disagreeing on certain points. There had been boundaries defined by Molly’s job and their mutual interest in preserving their personal relationship. Here there were no boundaries and Ari felt disconcertingly disconnected.
“I don’t know,” Ari finally said. “Maybe but maybe not.” She glanced at her watch. “I need to go.” She was grateful she had an appointment and rushed to her office to collect her briefcase.
Molly appeared at the doorway with her yellow pad. “I’ll make a list of who we need to interview. Reverend Glass could give us the names of people who knew Care and Jonny.” She paused but Ari said nothing. She just wanted to leave. “And the council,” Molly continued, oblivious to her discomfort.
“And we need to go to the VA. They obviously knew both of them.” She started scribbling on the tablet. “But I think we should save that visit for a weekday. The date on the pill bottle was yesterday and usually hospitals have different shifts on the weekends.” She paused. “Are you okay?”
Ari looked up from her phone. She’d been trying to scroll through her texts to find the property address where she’d meet the McConleys and was only half-listening to her. “I’m not sure I should help you with the case,” she blurted.
“Why not?”
“This could be too…” She searched for the word and finally said, “Complicated.”
She could tell from Molly’s expression that she understood. She crossed the distance between them and just as she reached the doorway Molly grabbed her hand.
“It doesn’t have to be complicated. We can control ourselves, right? For the sake of the victim?”
Ari nodded but couldn’t look at her.
“Good. You and Jane are going to First Friday tonight, right? Will you check in with me? I’m stationed at Third and Roosevelt for most of the evening. And we’re still going to the movies on Sunday.”
It was a statement, not a question, which was a good thing, because Ari doubted she could respond. Her mind was completely focused on their entwined fingers.
Chapter Five
YOU ARE HERE.
The aqua-blue letters emblazoned the left-hand corner of the map that covered the entire exterior wall of the 1Spot Gallery. Sitting on Jane’s fifth-floor balcony, looking below her at the map, Ari pondered the sentence. It seemed more a pronouncement than a direction and it challenged her to define here. Where was that? She would welcome a map to help her navigate the emotional maze that was her personal life.
She couldn’t stop thinking about her afternoon with Molly. When Molly had arrived so late she’d been angry, but it disappeared quickly. The need to communicate and exchange ideas set them humming. They’d found an important clue—the pen with the Velcro strip. Where was the other half of the strip? She’d told Molly she couldn’t help her with the case, but she doubted she could stay away.
Her gaze returned to the map. Three white lamps arced from the roof and curved inward to illuminate the huge map’s layout of galleries, shops and eateries located on Roosevelt Row. A couple stopped to study the map, their fingers drawing imaginary lines from the legend on the right to the color-coded numbers situated along the grid that was Roosevelt Street and its connecting arteries.
The map had not been updated for years. Some of the destinations no longer existed, but it remained at the gateway of RoRo, a piece of art and a tribute to the entrepreneurs who pioneered one of Phoenix’s greatest neighborhood makeovers. Blue and black gangster tags trailed across the bottom, old and worn from many Augusts of monsoon rains. The angular collection of letters, numbers and symbols was practically illegible, but it carried its own message, a throwback to the past when nearly every building was shuttered and the only commodity for sale on the Row was crack.
Ari finished a glass of fine Bordeaux and studied the party below her—First Friday, Mardi Gras in the desert. The sidewalks had disappeared underneath hundreds of feet strolling into the shops and galleries that stayed open until ten. Barricades narrowed the street to one lane each way, the pedestrians overflowing onto the asphalt, necessary since a string of vendors and performers lined RoRo from Seventh Street to Central. A group of teenage girls huddled around a table gawking at the handbags made from recycled license plates. A kettle drummer had attracted a crowd at the corner of Sixth Street, and Ari realized she was tapping her foot to the contagious beat.
The downtown skyscrapers hovered over RoRo, a smattering of interior office lights glowing like watchful eyes. Within the next two hours names like SHERATON, CHASE and WELLS FARGO would hang suspended in the darkness.
Serious art lovers snaked in and out of the Five 15 gallery. She gazed through the front picture windows at the throngs of people holding small plastic cups filled with wine and studying colorful glass sculptures on podiums. Obviously an opening.
Behind Ari, Jane appeared in the doorway completely decked out in black leather—skintight pants, thigh-high boots and a vest that revealed nearly all of her cleavage. She’d teased her blond hair into a bouffant and applied her makeup so thick Ari imagined it would take a box of tissues and an hour to remove it.
“Well, do I look like lust?” she asked, her hand on her hip.
“Honestly, you look like a high-priced call girl.”
“Really? How much would you pay?”
Ari rolled her eyes and stood. Although Jane wore four-inch stilettos, Ari was still an inch taller. She tucked a stray wisp of her short black hair behind her ear, suddenly conscious of her casual attire. Her walking shorts and tank top would be a noticeable contrast to Jane’s sizzling ensemble. “Let’s get going. The trolley’s going to be crowded.”
“I can’t believe you’re insisting we use public transportation. I won’t be fresh for my debut.”
Since moving to RoRo, Jane had made many friends including the owner of Gallery 7, a studio on LGA. She had agreed to be part of a one-night live performance exhibit titled “The Seven Deadly Sins,” portraying her favorite sin, lust. Ari imagined the show would be quite entertaining, but she had her own motivation for braving the First Friday crowds during the boiling August temperatures. She wanted to be another pair of eyes for Molly. If something else occurred on RoRo or LGA, Ari worried Nelson Security would be fired before they could find the perpetrator.
Jane grabbed her only prop, a dildo, from the couch and headed for the door.
“Don’t you want to put that in a purse or something?”
She held it up inquisitively. “Why?”
They headed downstairs into the First Friday energy. Within seconds of spilling onto the sidewalk, Jane was called to by two drag queens across the street at MADE, one of Ari’s favorite boutiques. They knew about the show and promised to stop by.
The crowd shuffled westward past a yellow bungalow. An herb and vegetable garden spread across the front yard and the chimney was painted like stained glass, the word BODEGA inscribed in vertical white letters. As the only market on RoRo, it did a brisk business amongst the residents and the First and Third Friday visitors.
A lesbian couple sitting on the front porch took time from their snuggling to shout, “Jane!” They waved at her frantically and she blew them a kiss.
“Do you know everyone?” Ari asked. “You’ve only lived here three months. I’ve lived in my house for over a year and I hardly know any of my neighbors.”
“I put myself out there, honey. That’s the way I make friends.”
That was certainly true. She lived for the party and Ari had not been surprised when she moved from her Scottsdale condo to a two-bedroom apartment in the Artisan Lofts at the corner of Roosevelt and Sixth Street. She’d waited a year to obtain a place that faced RoRo, ensuring that her balcony afforded her a front row seat for the First and Third Friday action.
It was hard to believe RoRo had been a dying area twenty years before
. Then artists and entrepreneurs invaded the territory, living and working in the abandoned and previously condemned structures. No one could claim your space if you were there twenty-four-seven. Boards were stripped from the large storefront windows to display paintings, sculptures and ceramics. Historic bungalows morphed into boutiques and empty lots showcased life-size art or hosted events such as the RoRo Chili Pepper Fest. The buildings, alleyways, fences, even the repainted recycling bins, became an on-going opportunity for expression. The warriors of RoRo were armed with the greatest weapon against blight: color.
The crowd was now bottlenecked in front of the vacant lot on Fourth Street where all of the food trucks had parked for the evening. A few undeveloped parcels of land remained on RoRo, and although they appeared depressing and bleak in the daytime, at night they were gathering spots for the hordes of visitors. There were presently no plans to build on the lots or tear down the handful of boarded up buildings that still sat on the Row. Eventually each one would be rescued. It wasn’t about rebuilding the area. It was about revealing it. RoRo was here to stay.
The competing food truck smells followed them for another block, and when she spotted a couple enjoying a creation from Short Leash Hot Dogs, she remembered she’d skipped dinner. “Can we stop to grab something? I’m starving.”
“Sure,” Jane said, oblivious to the time. Promptness was not one of her strengths, and Ari felt slightly guilty that she’d rushed her out the door and now might make her late with this detour.
The Short Leash takeout window line moved quickly and in less than ten minutes they were once again headed to the trolley stop. A wolf whistle sounded followed by grunting and colorful comments. She was certain the group of teenagers who’d been behind them in the Short Leash line were leering at Jane’s backside. Jane ignored them just long enough to finish her hot dog before she whirled around, brandishing the dildo like a sword. She sliced it through the air and the three astonished boys and one girl took a step back. The crowd continued to pour around them, uninterested in the little show.
